Every three seconds
An orphan is made,
A war is begun,
Someone doesn’t get laid,
Someone dies of starvation,
A champion strikes out,
Yet whether or not I want pizza’s
All I’m thinking about.
Tag Archives: Tragedy
And He Didn’t Even Get A Chance To Write A Title
Way way back in time
Before to burp was an imposition
And male dinosaurs ruled the earth
And female dinosaurs stayed in the kitchen…
Editor’s Note: This poem was never finished as the poet was brutally crushed to death by a vengeful time-traveling she-brontasaurus who is also your mother.
Filed under Poems
The Inverted Cockroach Speaks Out
I’m lying on the floor
Rocking back and forth
And sobbing
But no one stops
Or offers sympathy.
Racist A**holes.
Filed under Poems
Zero
Zero is the number
Of hours I slept
Before a 2:00 AM shuttle
To the airport today.
Zero is the number
Of friendly cute girls
In the security line
That I met on the way.
Zero is the number
Of lightning storms I missed
Flying into Houston
A half hour late
Zero is the number
Of minutes I had
To get from my landing
To my connecting flight’s gate.
Zero is the number
Of on-time flights departing
In the 40-plane lineup
That the airport had grown.
Zero is the number
That shows up in red
In the battery section
Of my cellular phone.
Zero’s the number
In military time
That my plane finally landed
At my final city.
Zero is the number
Out of one checked bag
That was at the airport
Waiting for me.
Zero is the number
Of poems technically written
By me on Tuesday
June 28.
Zero is the number
Of f**ks I give
That this hard-fought travel poem’s
Published 12 minutes late.
Filed under Poems, Uncategorized
Updating the Fire Code
Yellow tape around the mound
That used to be a house.
Not a creature stirs there anymore,
Not even my pet mouse.
I know it was an accident,
But it must not happen anymore.
I move to outlaw chimney climbing.
Santa will have to use the door.
Brian’s Mother
It was a positive sign and a terrible truth,
A cross the week after, an x made of pink.
All her hopes and dreams were replaced by two lines.
Her destiny lay in the sink.
She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life,
But she knew precisely what she must.
It didn’t matter that she herself was a child
Or whether or not it was just.
All that mattered to her was an image
That sang and laughed inside her soul
Of the tiny unborn child
That had come to make her whole.
Seven months and a ton of vitamins later
She’d painted the bedroom blue
And hung a tiny mobile
And purchased the baby shoes.
All the while she sang and smiled,
And now and then she wept,
Her entire life an accident
That kicked her while she slept.
Thirty days and thirty nights
And the sun rose, orange and gray.
Thirty times more came the morning sun,
Rosy pink, each happy day.
Until arose the sixtieth sun,
And the mother’s sweet sixteen,
And the golden sky brought a bolt of pain,
And the hospital bed was clean.
The doctor came, all dressed in white,
The child’s hair was red.
And the words “his name is Brian”
Were the last her mother said.
And so the girl lived in the blue room
Amidst her mother’s love.
And an angel looks on her daughter Brian
From a happy place above,
And the angel never once considered
Her life to have been a loss.
And she smiles, remembering how she was saved
By that small magenta cross.
Filed under Poems
For Boston
Sticks and stones
May shatter bones.
Steel tears hearts asunder.
Smoke and fire
Are the devil’s choir,
Who’s songs are mankind’s blunder.
But through the violence
And moments of silence
We make a noble choice:
We remember those
Slain by our foes.
We carry on their voice.
So bombings and such,
Our fears they touch,
But our hope cannot be shattered.
Toll Heaven’s bell
For those who fell,
And remember that they mattered.
The Daily Travesty 